


The space between us

by elareine



Series: JayTim Week 2020 [4]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Mr. & Mrs. Smith Fusion, Alternate Universe - Space, Angst with a Happy Ending, Breaking Up & Making Up, Canon-Typical Violence, Cyborgs, Guns, M/M, Makeup Sex, Marriage, Miscommunication, Suspected Cheating, The squad is there too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:33:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24586156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elareine/pseuds/elareine
Summary: Tim’s marriage is failing, as much as he likes to pretend it’s not. Even worse, when he tries to distract himself with a mission, he lets his target get away. Why?Oh, nothing much. Just turns out the infamous assassin ‘Red Hood’ is his husband, that’s all.
Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Series: JayTim Week 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1769350
Comments: 30
Kudos: 459
Collections: JayTimWeek





	The space between us

**Author's Note:**

> For JayTim week day six: Space or Cyberpunk/Android/Robotic. I'm a tad late because I wrote half of this in the last twenty-four hours. Ooops.

How do you stop waiting for someone to answer your texts? 

Maybe you text again. Make sure they know it’s okay; you’re not mad. 

And if no answer comes, well… you could call, or you could give up. Maybe you distract yourself. Try to keep busy. Meet new people, make new experiences, give up on whoever it is that doesn’t want you. 

And Tim’s days _are_ busy. He’s one of the best in his profession, after all, sought-after across the galaxy. And yet he cannot help but check on their chat log every few hours, just to stare at the grey icon that means Jason has not read his reply. 

Of course Jason has seen the preview; he’s just choosing not to acknowledge it. The silence is growing, and as it does, Tim is more convinced than ever that this is now one-sided. 

_This_ being their marriage, of course. 

Three years. Three years that Tim wants to say were blissful until recently. 

He wants to. It would be a lie, though. 

Their home stands tall in the afternoon light when Tim arrives. Tim likes it because it’s less than twenty minutes from the biggest port on the planet, allowing him to travel for his business with ease and discretion. Jason likes it because it has a garden with lots of vegetables. He grew up poor. Access to food that’s not dependent on money is important to him, and Tim would never argue with that. 

Oh, and the house is nice, too. 

Jason’s in the living room, bent over his pad. Tim just knows that if he looks at it, he’s gonna find an old Earth romance novel. He looks up and smiles when he sees Tim: “Oh, hi! You made it back.” 

Tim drops down next to him and presses a kiss to his cheek. “Hey.”

“How was your trip?” 

Tim grimaces. “Super boring until we encountered a hostile takeover attempt yesterday.” 

“Lex Corp again?” 

“No, no, Vanderbolt this time.” 

“Leeches.” Jason’s opinions on the conglomerates that rule their chunk of the galaxy under the guise of the ‘Interplanetary Governing Committee’ have always been rather, uh, obvious. Not that Tim disagrees. In fact, Jason’s vehemence sometimes made him wonder if he would be okay with—but that doesn’t matter anymore. 

“Yeah,” he sighs instead. “I finished dealing with it this morning and headed straight home.” 

“Zeta tube?” 

Tim nods. It’s not strictly true—it was a Zeta-Two tube, his company upgraded. Not like that matters, though. “How was your week? Any major incidents?” 

Jason works at the aforementioned port. He’s a mechanic and tends to stay out of trouble, but the stories about workplace accidents and smuggling attempts he tells from the bigger freight companies… 

This time, though, Jason just shakes his head. “It was good. Quiet.” 

And there it is again—that evasiveness. Any second now, Jason will say that he got in a cool new ship.

“Got in a beauty of a ship two days ago. Almost had to fight Roy for her.” 

“As if you aren’t always fighting, anyway,” Tim jokes through the sick feeling in his gut. Jason and his best friend slash business partner are both amateur boxers with a love of tall tales about their bouts. 

“True.” Jason’s smile is fond. If Tim didn’t know better, he would think it was for him, or even for Roy, instead of the person he’s fucking. 

Oh yes, Tim knows that Jason is cheating on him. There’s been no new shipment. Roy and Jason haven’t worked on anything while Tim was gone. Tim checked the logs. And they haven’t been in the ring either, because Pete from the gym always posts about the bouts, and he hasn’t mentioned either of them. Still Jason is too busy for Tim; still he’s lying about where he’s been; and he’s always avoiding taking off his shirt after these absences, so he’s covering up bruises.

Tim pretends he doesn’t see any of it. Maybe it says something about him that he’s so desperate to keep Jason, he’s ready to forgive his cheating. 

It’s just. Jason is the best thing that ever happened to Tim, the one that reminds him what he does his job for, who reminds him who _Tim_ is outside of it. Just the geeky, slightly goofy guy who somehow managed to angle the hottest guy on the planet. 

“Anyway, glad you could make it in time for tonight,” Jason says. 

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Tim says, which isn’t precisely correct. He seriously considered feigning an accident this morning. “It’s our anniversary, after all.” 

When they enter the restaurant, Jason turns some heads. Tim is used to that. His husband just has that kind of presence. Tim wouldn’t call it magnetism exactly; more an awareness that every prey has of their predator. 

Which is ridiculous. Jason cries at Disney movies. 

It’s a nice place. Not super fancy, but everything good quality and excellent service. The food is made by humans, even, which Jason swears tastes different. “They just don’t get the seasoning right, Tim. If you had more tastebuds than the average Timbledorian donkey, you would recognize that.” 

(Who was that guy that said the most important words to make a marriage last were ‘Yes, dear?’ Tim would say whoever it was got it right, except Jason would never have married him in the first place if Tim were that boring.) 

The most striking thing about it, though, is the view. The restaurant is located in a tower that architects could’ve only dreamed of building before the invention of antigrav. You can watch the ships entering and leaving the atmosphere from here. 

“How did you manage to get a table with a view?” Tim asks as they sit down. 

“I have connections,” Jason tells him loftily. He pauses. “And maybe I made the reservation two months in advance.” 

“Aww, I’m honored.” 

They order their food, they eat, and they talk. It’s good. Jason has a way of listening that makes Tim feel like the center of the universe, and he always makes sure to pay it back. It’s not difficult with Jason’s stories as over the top as they are. His husband even acts out the different parts. When he starts a pitch-perfect imitation of their governor holding a particularly obnoxious speech about why Gotham’s mining companies really needed more tax cuts, Tim snorts. 

And then Tim’s face keeps twitching. 

He tries to stop it—to no avail. His left eye feels weird and itchy, and it’s sending down signals that his facial nerves can’t interpret. 

“Tim?” Jason’s noticed. “You okay?” 

_Fuck_. Tim thought he fixed this on the way here, but his left eyebrow is starting to tic, and he can feel it pulling his cheek up as if he’s trying to keep a monocle in place or something. 

“Uh, yeah, don’t worry.” He takes up a napkin, trying to hide the twitching in his cheek. 

It doesn’t have the desired effect. “Are you feeling sick?” And great, now his husband is looking worried. 

Tim would reply, but he can feel the spasms growing. It’s getting more difficult not to wipe everything off the table. The desert is delicious, it doesn’t deserve this. To hide what’s happening from Jason, he moves to cover his face with his hand.

His left one, though, catches his glass. Ice tea spills everywhere. A waiter immediately appears, and Tim tries to say: “I’m sorry,” without taking his hand away from his face. He can feel it tic-tic-ticking in earnest now. 

“I’m sorry, he’s not feeling well,” hears Jason say. “May we have the check, please?” 

He’s ruining their dinner. Jason is clearly trying so hard for them, and Tim is _ruining this_. He has to control himself, has to stop his face from twitching, his hand from spasming—

“Tim, hey,” Jason’s voice is gentle. He walked over to Tim’s side without him noticing. “Let’s get you home, hmm?” 

They have a little med indicator in their living room. Jason insisted after they moved in—“Diagnostic tools like these make a huge difference, and you never know when it comes in handy!” 

Tim always thought it’s just that Jason is slightly paranoid. Anyway, the thing is nothing but a bother when he’s trying to hide his injuries, and today is no different.

“Tim. Get a diagnosis already.”

He opens his comlink and prays that Bart is as quick on the uptake as always. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Such a good restaurant couldn’t give me food poisoning.”

It’s prevarication, nothing more. Jason sees right through it. “Tim. Just stick your hand in.” 

He does. There’s a tiny prick to his ring finger, then the indicator flashes green. “You have: Mild food poisoning. You are advised to: Intake fluids. See a medic if symptoms prevail for: longer than twenty-four hours.” 

Thank the angels for Bart. 

“See?” Jason shook his head. “Maybe it was the fish.” 

“Just because you don’t like fish.” 

“Yeah, ‘cause it gives you food poisoning. Remember how I puked my guts out on Curundo?” 

Tim sure does. It was supposed to be their one-year-anniversary trip, after all. An exclusive tropical Island on a tourism planet made a fantastic background for holding Jason’s hair back. “As long as this doesn’t become a tradition.” 

“You know what they say, three times’s the charm.” 

…if there was going to be a third time. 

Tim tries not to think about that, focus on the now. “Actually, I think I’m going to throw up.” 

“C’mon, let’s get you into the bathroom.” 

Once there, Tim does what he hopes is a credible impression of ‘teenager who had too many shots last night,’ artfully draping himself over the bowl so his face is hidden. 

When there’s no sound behind him, he starts retching. Even that’s not enough, so he rasps: “It’s okay. You can leave.” 

Jason hesitates, but he does leave. Tim has thoroughly convinced him that Tim doesn’t like others seeing him weak, after all. It’s only half-true: Tim would love to have someone there when he’s hurt or down or sad, even if it’s embarrassing. He just can’t explain the actual extent of his injuries.

When he’s alone, Tim keeps up the charade for another fifteen minutes, just in case Jason checks on him.

No need. Jason doesn’t come back. 

Tim sighs and leans back on his heels, opening the compartment he’s stored under the shower. At least he’s got his tools right there. 

_You okay???_ Bart asks. 

_Yeah. Circuit malfunction. I’ll send you the schematics_. 

_Dude :( Isn’t it your wedding anniversary?_

_Yes. Let’s get started._ With that, Tim takes his eye out and gets to work. 

It takes him nine hours to find the problem and fix it. Nine hours. Bart stayed awake the entire time, helping him find the part that was damaged when Tim’d gone head-to-head with a group of conglomerate goons. (Fucking enerplast whips.) It turns out to be a mechanical issue, not just code, which is much harder to fix in a bathroom while trying not to make any noise. 

It’s early morning by the time Tim makes it out. When he steps outside the door, there’s a set of pajamas, a water bottle, and some crackers waiting for him. Tim stares at them for a long minute; imagines Jason, waiting in front of the door, not knocking but always caring. 

There’s a warmth in him that he hasn’t felt in a long while. He changes and makes sure to consume some of Jason’s offerings; then Tim goes to bed. Jason is already there, looking soft and immensely dorky in his Diana Prince shirt and pink shorts. 

He stirs when Tim slides under the cover. “Hey, how’re you feeling?” 

“Better. Passed out in the tub for a while, sorry,” Tim smiles and moved to press against his side. 

Jason, though, turns away. 

And Tim—he just wants to cuddle, nothing more. To be held after a night of pain. Even if Jason doesn’t know the true extent, is it really too much to ask to be coddled after a night on the bathroom floor? 

He tries again. Scoots closer, presses a hand against Jason’s shoulder just to feel the warmth. That would be enough: just some warmth, some human contact. 

Jason flinches and hisses: “What’re you doing?” 

And— _no_. Tim refuses to explain what he’s doing when the answer is ‘innocently touching his _husband_ in their _marriage bed._ ’ Yeah, Jason doesn’t owe him anything, but to act as if Tim is doing something insane—Tim rolls over and gets out of bed. 

“What are you doing?” Jason asks when he hears the rustle of clothes. 

“Getting ready. Pickup is in one hour.” 

“I thought you canceled that trip.” 

Tim doesn’t look at him. “I did. But there’s no point to that now, is there?” 

“Because I don’t want sex after you spent the night in the bathroom puking your guts out? Jesus Christ, Tim, what’s wrong with you?” Jason’s voice increases in volume until he’s almost yelling. “Is that all you’re here for? Is your job really that important to you?” 

“Unlike you, who never even answers when I try to talk to you?”

“So I’m supposed to be just at your beck and call why you’re off, being important at doing what? Business? Screwing around on me?” 

That is enough to get Tim to whirl around. “ _What?_ ” 

Jason’s sitting up, his whole upper body tenser than Tim has ever seen it. His chin thrusts forward mulishly. “You heard me.” 

“You’re out of your mind,” Tim whispers. Him? _Cheating?_ He would never, and Jason is the one who—

“What, are you gonna pretend nothing happened again?” Jason sneered. “Run away for a while, then cover it up with a sweet message and a smile?” 

“I can’t do this.” Tim shakes his head. He has no idea what Jason is on about; he doesn’t want to find out. He’s just so, so tired. 

There’s a go-bag ready by the door. It won’t matter what he takes, but it still feels good to grab something as he leaves.

“Guess I know what you married me for, then,” he thinks he hears as he slams the door behind him, but by then he’s too angry to care. 

From the outside, Drake Industries looks like a smaller carbon copy of Wayne Tech. It’s all sleep lines and open floor plans. Tim deliberately modeled himself on them; the two cooperations hide similar secrets, after all. 

“Hi, Tam,” he says as he walks into his office. 

“Tim, good morning.” She looks surprised. “I thought you took three days up.” 

Tam is the closest thing he has to a civilian friend. Tim still can’t bear to tell her truth. “Something came up. Jason has to go in for work, after all, so I figured…” 

“You two need to spend some time together, or he will kick you to the curb soon.” 

Ouch. “We’ll manage to catch up soon. I hope I’m not too late?” 

“No, they’re just gathering to leave.” Tam, efficient as ever, hands him a small electronic key and an identity badge. “Have a good meeting.” 

“Thank you.” 

Tim steps into the elevator that will bring him to his personal office. Once the door’s closed, he pushes the key against the panel and says: “Level minus thirty-four.” 

“Access code?” The system asks. 

“Justice.” It’s always the same word, spoken in a different language according to the color of the Earth rose on Tam’s desk. Today, it’s Tamarean red. 

The elevator starts moving. When Tim steps out, it’s to a hangar that doesn’t appear on any floor plan. 

“Tim!” Bart yells out, and less than a second later, he’s enveloped by a hug. “You made it, after all!” 

Kon follows closely and looks at him, concern written all over his face. “Tim? Are you okay?” 

“Sure he is,” Bart says. “We fixed that eye.” 

Cassie gently hits the back of his head. “He means emotionally.” 

“Oh.” Bart doesn’t stop hugging Tim. If anything, he seems determined to be closer. 

“It’s—” Tim is about to say _okay_ , but. These are his closest friends. Who is he going to talk to if not them? So he forces the words out: “I think he’s cheating on me.” 

There’s a beat of silence.

Then Cassie says: “I’m going to kill him.” 

“Seconded.” 

“Thirded.”

“Guys!” Tim protests even if he’s 90% sure they’re kidding. Well. 70%. He hasn’t seen Kon look that angry in a while. “He’s not—” 

“Don’t defend him, Tim!” Kon’s voice rises. “If he’s cheating on you, he’s scum, and you don’t deserve that.” 

Cassie nods. Even Bart looks like he’s about to go kill someone (a very specific someone.) As touching as it is, it also makes Tim feel tired.

“Can we just leave and go do this?” He just needs to not think about Jason for a while. “I promise we can talk about it after.” 

Reluctantly, they agree.

“Get on the ship, then,” Kon says, gently pulling Bart away so Tim can move. “You look beat, man.”

The problem with interplanetary missions is that it takes really fucking long to get anywhere. Sure, travel time has decreased dramatically with the new Wakawski drive, but it’s nothing compared to, say, a Zeta tube. It takes 20 hours to reach Kiren, and Tim spends the first fifteen of these sleeping. 

After a shower and a meal, he runs some diagnostics on himself and his coworkers, making sure they’re all in optimal shape for a fight. The other three have bone enhancements—Cassie and Kon for speed and strength, Bart purely for speed—and those can be tricky. 

When that is done and there are still two hours left, Tim goes over his mission notes again. The governor of Kiren has been channeling state funds toward pro-government, ‘anti-diversity’ groups for years. The amount of harm he’s caused couldn’t be summarized in a sheet, but their contact on the planet did their best when they submitted the request for aid to their agency. It’s pretty fucking convincing; enough to startle anyone but the Interplanetary Governing Committee into action.

Kon, Cassie, and Bart are going to take care of the leaders of the groups in question. They might’ve left it at that for now—the governor would be an easy target once his militias were gone—but with Tim back on board, well. Cutting all heads of the hydro off at once is the strategy Young Justice is known for, after all. 

It reminds him of how he met Jason. Tim was hired to assassinate the CEO of a multi-planet conglomerate—a side job, to be honest; his agency would have been content if he’d gained the land rights. Someone had gotten there before him, though. The hotel had been awash with sirens and guards within hours of his arrival. 

Tim couldn’t have given less of a fuck. Nothing mattered except that the asshole was gone. He could negotiate for the land and return it to its native people with much more ease now. 

Until the guards announced that they were checking for anyone traveling alone with cybergenetic enhancements. Tim immediately suspected that they must be looking for something specific; a certain kind of armament modification, probably, and he had none of these. Still, it would be awkward to explain away his implants and the chips in his left arm. 

So when a stranger caught his eye and announced: “Ah, there you are, honey,” he’d played along. That the night had culminated in the best sex of his life—only topped by the second time, and the third time, and every time after that—had only been a bonus. 

His team—his friends—thought he was crazy when he proposed to Jason just five months later. And maybe he was; perhaps this disaster of a marriage is the inevitable result of wanting too much, too fast. 

It’s just… Tim remembers how happy he was at their wedding. How widely Jason smiled when he said, ‘yes.’ He’d never been so wrapped up in another being as during that honeymoon, never felt so precious as when Jason carried him into their suite and closed the door firmly behind them. Yes, even including the day or so of punking. 

And even after the honeymoon was over, it hadn’t been bad. Tim _enjoys_ the everyday with Jason. Sure, it’s always weird to adjust from high-adrenaline-go-run-hide-kill back to gentle-whole-normal. Tim thinks he did okay, though. It wasn’t exciting, but it was _good_. With Jason, love never felt like something he had to earn. 

Guess Tim was wrong about that. 

_The mission_ , _goddammit_ , he reminds himself. This is supposed to be a distraction. He’s not gonna moon forlornly about his husband when there’s a government to topple. 

Once they’re on the ground, it’s easier to focus. Tim arrives in the guise of a businessman, checking into the most expensive hotel in the capital city. The governor will hold a speech that afternoon. That’s what he’s attending. 

The first speaker—some corporate drone, Tim thinks even as his left eye idly shows him the man’s entire social media history—gets on the stage. This is the sign, he knows. Kon, Cassie, and Bart will start their parts of the mission at this exact moment. 

“Folks, we have gathered here today to celebrate a deal that will change not just our city, but our entire planet.” 

Tim tunes him out with ease. After all, the small group of men waiting to get on stage after him is much more interesting. He gets his first good look at his target. It’s immediately apparent why they call him ‘The Penguin.’ The resemblance is uncanny. And is that a top-hat? Tim is a rich kid himself, but that’s just ridiculous.

One of the advantages of the tech in his head—installed against Bruce’s strongest objections—is the fact that Tim can survey the entirety of the room even with his eyes fixed on the speaker. ‘The corner of his eye’ is quite a broad range when you’re him. So when there’s a small movement on the gallery above, he notices. 

He looks up—and freezes. He’s seen that particular red helmet before. 

The Red Hood is something of a legend in their circles. Literally: Half of the operatives at Tim’s agency are convinced he doesn’t exist. To them, he’s a boogeyman, the one the government blames all high-profile deaths on. 

Tim, however, knows he’s real. He’s caught glimpses of the Red Hood’s work before; brutal and less refined than his own methods, but chillingly effective. Whoever makes his explosives must be one of the best weaponsmiths in the galaxy. Tim has seen his inventions take out three battleships before. And his partner, a beautiful woman, is rumored to be even more dangerous than he is. 

This time, he seems to be alone. And when Tim zooms in, he sees that that is a very high-powered enerplast rifle in his hand. 

Okay, so he’s not there as a guest. 

Rapidly reevaluating the situation, Tim decides to withdraw. If Red Hood is here, he will take care of the Penguin. Tim has no intention of becoming collateral damage. 

(At least it’s not the Al Ghuls again. Too. Many. Monologues.) 

With the utmost stealth, he backs out of the room. By the time he’s across the gallery and entering a storage facility with the vent that will help him escape, Tim is sure he made it.

That’s when a gun is pressed to his head. “Who hired you?” 

Now, Tim does not like discussions where someone can shoot him any seconds, so he levels the playing field with a brutal hit to the Red Hood’s wrist. “None of your business. Shouldn’t you be assassinating the Penguin right about now?” 

“Who paid you to go after me?” Red Hood asks again, undeterred.

“Aww, no, I’m here for the same thing—”

Red Hood has a mean swing, as Tim finds out when the other manages to catch him across the jaw. Tim rolls with it, lets himself fall to the ground, and swipes at Red Hood’s feet. Red Hood manages to catch himself, but it does throw him off balance enough that Tim thinks he has a chance at toppling him with just one more kick to the knees. 

A large, gloved hand catches his ankle instead and throws him against the wall without ceremony. 

“Fuck,” Tim hisses. No way Red Hood is all-human, not with that kind of throw. If it was Kon or Cassie doing this to him, he’d be dead, so it’s not that, but… 

He tries to get a reading on him, but his sensors are hampered. Tim tries to focus through the ringing in his ears to figure out why. It’s that red helmet. There’s something in there, some kind of signal, that’s fucking with Tim’s senses. 

Then Red Hood is there and hoisting Tim up by his collar. “Who sent you?” 

His voice is metallic. Voice modulator or android, then. Tim is starting to suspect the latter; Red Hood’s grip is iron, literally. 

“We were hired by the people,” Tim says. 

Red Hood snorts. “Sure. That’s what they all tell themselves—”

In a flash, Tim moves. One of his mentors at the agency behind Wayne Tech, Dick Grayson, was an expert on escaping chokeholds, and he taught Tim well. Grip strength means nothing to a slippery target. 

He goes for his knife, and when Red Hood lifts a hand to protect his jugular, Tim slices through the explosives at the back of the helmet instead. The other man jolts—the first sign of fear Tim has seen from him—but it’s too late, Tim is already pulling it off his head.

And then it’s off, and his husband is staring back at him. 

Which. _What the fuck._ This can’t be Jason. It can’t be. Jason is at home, sulking because he thinks that Tim’s too invested in his job. He’s not here, armed to the nines and fresh off trying to assassinate the governor of an entire planet. 

Red Hood— _Jason_ —uses Tim’s stunned silence to jump back, looking wary at how he has suddenly stopped attacking him. 

For some reason, all Tim can think to say is: “But you cry at _Disney movies_!” 

Jason grows stock still. “…Tim?” 

Tim should probably deny that. He’s too stunned to do anything of the sort. “What the fuck are you doing here?” 

“What am _I_ doing here? You—”

The door flies open. “Put your hands in the air! You are under arrest!” 

At least ten armed guards enter. Jason unceremoniously grabs his helmet and puts it back on, then he starts shooting. In the chaos, Tim does the smart thing: He runs away. 

“Rob?” Kon calls out through Tim’s comm line as he runs back to the festival hall. “What are you doing? I just saw the governor on tv! Alive!” 

Tim curses. He missed his window. “Red Hood showed up. I’m aborting my part of the mission. Do not engage. We will meet up at the agreed time and place.”

“Understood. You okay?” 

And how the fuck is Tim ever gonna answer that question again? “So it turns out Jason is not cheating on me,” Tim says, and Bart cheers over his own link. 

“That’s… good,” Kon says, question clear in his voice.

“He’s an internationally wanted assassin instead.” 

“The fuck?” 

The evening finds Tim surrounded by plenty of food and beautiful people. Not the past-time he would’ve chosen after the events of the day. He needs to keep his cover, though. If Tim gets found out now, just because he was _careless_ and _stupid_ and _naive_ in trusting his husband—If he gets found out now, it was all for nothing. Without his job, his calling, Tim will have nothing left of this farce he’s called his life for three years. 

So he grips the champagne flute tightly and smiles. 

This gala is the reason he gave for visiting the planet in the first place. A celebration to honor a new contract between Luthor and the Penguin. He counted on it being canceled in light of the governer’s death. As it is, neither Cobblepot nor Luthor are in attendance, likely wary after the assassination attempt earlier. Not to mention some of their best men being killed. 

Tim comforts himself with the thought that that had always been the primary goal of their mission. They can come back for Cobblepot later. 

“Dance with me?” someone asks. 

It takes every ounce of willpower Tim possesses to slowly turn around because he knows that voice. 

Yepp. That’s Jason. His hair is different—his telltale white streak is covered, and there’s enough gel to make him look just a little like Bruce. He’s also wearing a suit. 

Tim feels a frisson of heat ripple through him. God, but Jason’s shoulders. He always wants to bite them, no matter where, but with his tuxedo jacket stretching across his chest, the slight padding making his back look even broader… 

“Well?” Jason asks and holds out a hand.

Tim takes it. “Of course.”

There’s an awkward moment where they both move into the leader position. They’ve danced before, but never ballroom style. Until now, Tim didn’t know that Jason _can_ dance like that, not just grind. 

He gives in gracefully—lose a squirmish, win the war, and they waltz across the room. 

“There’s a price on our head, you know,” Jason tells him casually, then twirls him around. Tim goes with it. 

“Oh?” 

“Four million interplanetary credits.” 

“I’m flattered.” 

“Right? There’s even an offer attached to it.” 

They make it halfway across the dancefloor before Tim gives in and asks with feigned disinterest: “What kind of offer would that be?” 

“Clemency if one of us turns the other in. And the money, of course.” 

Tim snorts. Cobblepot must have connections to someone very high up if he can offer that. It stinks of a trap. 

Jason, though, tells him: “I plan on collecting that.” 

“Then you’re stupider than I thought.” 

“Clearly, since I married you.” 

“Jason,” Tim can’t help but say. “I didn’t—” 

“I must say, you played your part well,” Jason tells him. “What a pity you happened to pick _me_ for your little Civilian cover story.” 

Tim rolls his eyes. “Not like it worked out any better for you.” 

Jason leans in. Their faces are so close together, and for a moment, Tim is sure that Jason’ll kiss him, craves it as much as he loathes the thought. 

“See you at home, darling,” Jason whispers. Then he lets go and walks away, leaving Tim in the middle of the dance floor to stare after him. 

“You’ve got yourself a hot and cold one, there,” a woman tells him, laughing. 

Tim shakes his head. “You have no idea.” 

“I still think this is a bad idea,” Bart says over the comm.

“He knows that,” Cassie shouts in the background, audibly exasperated. “He’s just choosing to ignore it. Dumbass.” 

Tim had twenty hours to this through. He even slept some of them.

In the end, it boils down to this: He can’t leave things the way they are. Either Jason can be made to see reason, or he needs to be eliminated before he rats out all of them. 

That’s not the part that Cassie has a problem with. That honor goes squarely to Tim’s insistence on facing his husband alone. Tim has never been the type to bring outsiders into his marriage, though. He’s sure Jason will do the same. If he’s wrong and Jason’s team is waiting for him in the living room, well, Kon, Cassie, and Bart can avenge him. 

From the outside, the house still looks perfectly nice. Boring. Normal. Nothing hints at the fact that two internationally wanted anti-government agents lived here for three years. 

Tim debates ringing the doorbell, but that would just be ridiculous. The fingerprint lock still recognizes him, at least. That’s a good sign, right? 

The door slides open to reveal… their front room. Nothing’s moving. 

“Honey, I’m home!” Tim calls out sweetly, a stark contrast to his arrival four days ago. “What’s for dinner?”

Silence. 

Tim’s not fooled. He’s clutching his knife tightly. 

There’s a hissing sound. Tim reacts quickly, kicking the gas canister back into the kitchen where it came from. “That’s not dinner.” 

There’s quiet cursing. Tim switches to heat vision, which tells him that Jason has fled to the bedroom. Tim thinks it’s prudent to move on to the living room himself, even as he says: “I just want to talk—” 

Instinct causes him to keep walking, and it’s a good thing he does: The mirror right beside his face shatters. If Tim didn’t move, that energy blast would’ve hit him. Would’ve _killed_ him. As it is, the glass shards from the mirror dig into his shoulder, and it hurts. 

Something in Tim finally snaps. 

Okay. If Jason wants a fight, he’ll get a fucking fight. He dives behind the couch, reaching under it into yet another of his stashes. His grip closes around a gun. Perfect. Another second gets him his lighter. Improvised firebombs for the win. It’ll fuck with his heat vision, but the satisfaction Tim feels when their bedroom goes up in flames is worth it. 

“I hate those curtains, anyways!” Jason calls out. 

“Yes, so you keep saying, but I don’t see you redecorating, either!” 

Jason does… something and the flames go down with a loud hiss. Tim expects the other to not want to stay in the smoked-out room anyway, and he’s right. Jason thoughtfully clears the way for himself with an antigrav grenade. They’re lucky the house doesn’t just collapse on them.

Tim quickly takes stock. The bedroom is toast. The kitchen is full of gas. Jason just blew up half of the hallway, so going upstairs is not a safe choice. That leaves the tiny bathroom, and the living room Tim is currently claiming as his own territory. 

When Jason enters, Tim gets one good shot off. Jason ducks. 

“I see your shit aim at laser tag night wasn’t just a facade.” He’s grinning, the psycho. 

Tim throws his knife at him. _That_ gets him to shut up, even if Jason moves quickly enough that it only hits his shoulders. When Tim switches lenses, he can finally see why the other man can move like that: A good two-thirds of his husband isn’t made of flesh and bone. He’s been enhanced from the collarbone down to the waist, then his legs, one of his hands, part of his scalp. 

(Holy shit, how has he never noticed that?) 

His husband doesn’t slow down, just grabs a chair to throw at Tim, then uses the distraction to fire at him. Tim rolls behind the couch again and returns fire. 

“Should’ve known you wanted me dead when you first tried to cook for me.” Nothing ever keeps Jason quiet for long. 

Tim wishes he could insult Jason’s cooking in turn, but he can’t. The food’s always been delicious. “Should’ve known you wanted me dead when you _told me so yesterday_.” 

Jason falls quiet at that. Tim doesn’t stop to wonder at that; just uses the moment to finally go on the offense. Jason is moving way too quickly to be hit from a distance. Tim needs to get closer. The next time he takes aim, it’s not to hit, it’s to distract.

He has never appreciated modern guns as much as he does now. If this was one of these old movies, he would’ve had to reload about five times by now. As it is, he can just keep up a steady stream of gunfire, keeping Jason busy enough that he can get creep up on him. 

And suddenly, they’re staring each other in the eye, face to face, guns aimed at each other. Jason’s going for the gut, Tim notes. He himself prefers a headshot. 

Neither of them says anything. They just stand there. 

Tim swallows.

He cannot drop the gun. He _cannot_. Jason will kill him, Tim knows that but it’s so, so hard to keep it aimed at Jason’s face, those eyes that Tim has loved ever since they first met his—how could he kill Jason? His _husband?_

Yet, he must. There is no other way. Tim is not ready to die, and if this is what Jason chooses, then—

Jason lowers his gun. 

Tim waits for his next move. Getting out a bigger gun, shoot Tim in the legs, something like that. 

When nothing happens, Tim doesn’t know what to do. For the second time in thirty hours, his fundament is shaken. What is Jason playing at now? Surely he cannot mean—

“Shoot me.” His voice is more hiss than words. 

Jason, though, actually expels the energy cartridge from his gun. “I can’t.” 

“Shoot me, damn you!” To his humiliation, Tim feels tears burn in his eyes. 

Jason looks as lost as he does, but his voice is firm. “No.” 

Tim drops the gun and throws himself at Jason. His husband catches him, but Tim keeps pushing even as he kisses Jason, until they’re on the ground, until he can pin him down and kiss him like their world is ending today. Jason responds with the same hunger, pulling Tim to him until they forget that they are two different people. 

Tim doesn’t know what this is now: Love or hate, hello or goodbye. He’s not even sure they will both survive the night. 

He’s determined to make the best of it, though. Now that he knows where there are synthetic receptors instead of skin, he adjusts the way he touches Jason. His husband reacts beautifully. His nipples have never done much for him, for reasons that are now obvious, but when Tim presses butterfly kisses along the line of nerves above it, he sighs. 

Tim grins and bites. 

Jason jolts and gets a hand into his hair, pulls until it hurts oh-so-sweetly. Tim groans against his skin and does it again. 

There’s an urge to leave marks, and maybe it’s stupid—he married this man, they’re both wearing their rings, what more does he want?—but Tim gives into it. The knife wound is bleeding sluggishly (blood thickener?), and Tim leaves a bruise right next to it, works his way across Jason’s collarbone, his throat, his other shoulder. 

Jason has started making these beautiful little whimpers, high-pitched sounds that go straight to Tim’s cock. Tim wants to hear more, never wants to hear anything else in his life.

“Fuck me,” Jason finally groans. 

Tim would be happy to oblige, but: “We burned the condoms with the bedroom.” 

“ _You_ burned the—” Jason moans when Tim pushes their hips together. They’re both wearing kevlar; it still feels amazing. “Urgh, there are more in the drawer of the couch table.” 

“There are?” 

“Was planning on jumping you when you came back from your trip on our anniversary,” Jason admits. “You looked tired, though.” 

“Sorry about that,” Tim grins. “Got into a scuffle with seven Luthor guards with enerplast whips. Fucked with my circuits.” 

“Fuck, that’s hot. Get the condom already.”

Tim does. 

When he turns back to Jason, he’s still on the floor, but naked. And fuck, like this, he looks just like a regular guy who works out a lot. The carnage around them speaks a different story, though, and so does the pounding beat of Tim’s heart as he stalks back to him, undressing on the way.

There’s barely any getting ready involved. Yeah, it’s been a while since they fucked, but Jason opens up around his fingers beautifully. Besides, from the way he’s reacting to the bites, Tim is starting to suspect Jason likes a little pain. 

Funny what you discover even after years of marriage. 

They are not careful with each other, but they are reverent. Jason’s hand stays in Tim’s hair the entire time, never letting him look away. The snap of Tim’s hips is relentless, fucking into Jason so deep, it’s like he’s carving a place for himself. 

When he grabs Jason’s hips and lifts him up, displaying a strength he has never allowed himself to show before, the other man howls.

“Get yourself off.” Tim almost doesn’t recognize his own voice. It’s vicious and commanding and nothing like sweet-but-dull businessman Tim Drake. 

Jason obediently drops a hand to his drooling cock, groaning as he jacks himself furiously. “Tim—”

Tim doesn’t reply in words, lets the snap of his hips speak for itself as he turns his head and presses a kiss to the soft skin of Jason’s arm.

Jason spasms around him. “Fuck!” Tim doesn’t need to look down to see that he’s coming, just concentrates on fucking him through it, making it good, making it too much. 

Finally, though, he can’t help but speed up his pace, thrusting into Jason almost helplessly as he comes. The relief is more than physical. Jason is pulling him close, cradling him with his legs around Tim’s hip, his arms a haven for all the feelings running through Tim. He holds on as Tim shivers and stops moving, and long after. 

God. Tim missed this. 

When Tim wakes up, he thinks it’s just an ordinary day. He’s in bed with his husband, after all. Time to start breakfast, check out if a new mission request came in. 

Then he remembers: The kitchen is currently uninhabitable. There’s no mission because the rest of his team doesn’t know if he’ll come back alive from this one. Oh, and his husband tried to kill him last night. 

Weirdly, none of that really bothers him. When he opens his eyes, it takes him a moment to figure out where exactly they are. Right. Tim had just enough sense to half-coax, half-drag Jason over to the couch before they passed the fuck out yesterday. 

They’re still wrapped around each other. Tim quietly takes stock of his own body. His jaw still hurts like it has ever since Jason delivered that punch and then hoisted him up the neck. His shoulder is sore with cuts from the broken mirror. That’ll be a bitch to move with later. 

Mostly, though, he feels like he had some outstanding sex followed by a decent night’s sleep. 

“Good morning.” Jason’s voice is a soft rumble. 

“Morning.” Tim doesn’t want to move, so he doesn’t. “I don’t really know where to go from here.”

Jason chuckles. “Same here.”

Idly, Tim notes that Jason’s chest is not rising and falling. Makes sense if he has a replacement lung. Must’ve been tiring to go through the motions anyway, all the time, for Tim’s benefit. 

It compels him to say: “I feel like I know you and I don’t, at the same time.” 

“Yeah. That sums it up well.” 

Tim closes his eyes, lets himself drowse. He’s starting to think this might not be the end for him and Jason, after all. It’s still worth enjoying this in case it’s not. 

“I started out at Wayne Tech.” Jason’s voice is quiet, but Tim’s head shoots up in astonishment. 

“Really? So did I.” 

“I figured. You have the fighting style.” 

“You don’t.” 

“Yeah, well.” Jason’s hand cups Tim’s cheek then slides down to the back of his neck. Tim follows the pressure and settles down against Jason’s shoulder again. “I left in 154 a.E.” 

Tim does the math. “You must’ve been what, thirteen? Wait, are you really thirty-one?” 

“Twenty-nine. Thirty-one was the age on the ID when we met.” 

Tim pokes the side of Jason’s neck. “But your name is really Jason Todd, right? I didn’t take on some alias?” 

“It actually is. Since Drake Industries is a thing, I assume you are really Tim Drake and didn’t just kill the real one?” 

“I am Tim Drake, yes.” 

“Did you join Wayne Tech when your parents died?” 

“No, I was already a member then. My parents never knew.” Tim can say that without grief, now. It’s been a long time. 

“Why did you leave?” 

“I wanted to do something different. Have my own team. Bruce’s vision… it can become limiting sometimes.” Jason snorts as if to say _That’s an understatement_ , and Tim adds: “I still work with them from time to time. He’s very focused on this planet, though, and I like to think bigger. How about you?” 

“Oh, I died.” 

Tim freezes. Then he hits Jason in the side.

“Ouch!” 

“Don’t ever say that so casually again.” 

“Well, I did.” Jason’s pouting; Tim doesn’t need to look up to know that. “Why do you think I’m 60% metal?” 

“I dunno, it’s a great tool for your job?” Tim hisses. 

“It also helps to deal with the damages from, say, an explosion.” Jason’s voice is light. 

And Tim—he doesn’t want to consider what that means. Jesus. He threw _fire_ at Jason yesterday, was that—

Jason’s hand moves into his hair again, gives it a gentle scritch. Tim would like to protest being treated like a kitten that needs comfort. However, it does feel good. 

“I kind of drifted after that,” Jason says. “Returned to cagefighting for a while. That’s where Bruce picked me up, by the way. Then I was with the League of Assassins.” 

Tim makes a face; he can’t help it. 

Jason laughs. “Agreed. That’s why I left and started doing my own thing with some friends. Similar to what you’re doing, I guess, just with more explosions.” 

“I’m guessing Roy is one of these friends?” It explains so much. Tim can’t believe he ever thought Jason was cheating. 

“Yeah. He’s doing the repairs and upkeep on my body, too. The skin is his special invention. You like it?” 

“It’s amazing,” Tim admits. “I never even noticed.” 

“Yeah, he built in some tech that hides it from multilayer vision, which is what I’m guessing you have?” 

“Among other things. Network connectors both in my brain—I’m plugged into everything around us as we speak—and physical ones in my fingers and arm.”

“Hence the ‘food poisoning.’” 

“Yeah. So who’s the fantastically beautiful woman I always hear about?” Tim tries not to sound jealous. He has no reason to; Jason doesn’t swing that way. 

“Oh, that’s Kori.” 

It takes a moment for Tim to get it. “Princess Koriand’r of Tamaran is an Outlaw?!” 

“Yupp.” 

“…now I’m mostly insulted she wasn’t at our wedding.” 

“So was she, believe me, but it that wouldn’t have exactly been subtly. Officially, she has no reason to have connections to low-lives like Roy and me.” 

“Still. Dick was there; it would’ve been hilarious.” 

“To you, maybe. Was your team there? Wait, no, let me guess—Kon’s definitely working with you. Which means…” 

“Cassie and Bart, too, yes. And assorted others we call in when we need to. Freelancers, so to speak.” Tim sighs. “They all did warn me you were too good to be true.” 

Jason chuckles. “I aim to please.” Then he adds, more seriously: “It started eating at me, though. That I wasn’t telling you. I don’t like lying, and especially not to you.” 

This was going to make Tim sound shitty, but: “I didn’t—I never really minded doing that.” He feels Jason tense, so he adds: “It was the only thing keeping both you and our mission safe. Or so I thought.” 

“Or so you thought.” Jason chuckles. “God, what a clusterfuck we’ve gotten ourselves into, huh?” 

“Worse than any soap opera.” Tim laughs, too. For a moment, they just let themselves appreciate the humor of the situation. 

“I could imagine worse things, though,” Tim finally offers. 

“Hmm?” 

“I mean. A husband who can take me in a fight and who has roughly the same goals as I do… that sounds pretty good to me.”

Jason is silent for a long time. Tim’s weirdly okay with that. It’s a big deal, what he’s proposing. He just breathes in the smell of Jason’s skin and waits.

“Are you proposing an alliance?” Jason finally asks. 

“I’d settle for a marriage,” Tim tells him bluntly, “but yeah. Why work separately when we know what the other is doing? We could at least coordinate.” 

“We’re not going to change our methods.” 

“I’m not Bruce.” 

“Thank God, or that would make this even weirder.” Jason pulls on Tim’s hair just the tiniest bit, and Tim goes with it, looks Jason in the eyes, and lets him figure out whatever he needs to figure out. 

Finally, Jason smiles. “Yeah, okay. I’ll talk to the others.” 

As if on cue, something starts ringing. Jason sighs and goes to fetch his pants. Tim reluctantly gets up, too, pulling on boxers just as Roy’s voice rings out. 

“Morning, Jaybird! Did you settle your little marriage spat?” 

Tim abandons his shirt for long enough to step up behind Jason, winding his arms around the taller man’s waist and resting his chin on his shoulder to grin down at Roy. “We did.” 

“Oh, hi, Tim!” Roy gives a cheerful wave. “Good to see you. Alive, I mean.” 

“Thanks.” 

Jason sighs. “Roy, what do you want?”

“Just letting you know that three armed navy commandoes are closing in on your house. I think Cobblepot figured out where you are.” 

Jason and Tim immediately go back to being all business. Clothes first, then they get their guns. Tim says: “Let me just call my team—”

“Nah, it’s okay, I already contacted them.” 

“You did?” 

“You went silent all of a sudden, but both of your heat signatures were still there,” Cassie chimes in over Tim’s coms. Bart must’ve turned on the sound for her, because Jason can clearly hear her, too. Bastards. “We can draw the conclusions, idiot. Thanks for checking in, by the way.” 

“Sorry.” 

“You better be. ETA in ten minutes.” 

“Kori’s flying in,” Roy adds. “I’m standing by in case they decide leveling the entire neighborhood is easier.” 

Tim nods and turns to Jason. “I have a few different gas canisters stored in the cellar.” Much better shit than the cheap one Jason tried on him yesterday.

Jason grins. “Funny. That’s exactly where I keep my heavier weapons. Those poor bastards have no idea of what they’re walking into.” 

Tim shakes his head in mock pity. “They really don’t.”

As they walk over to the door that will lead them downstairs, Tim catches a glimpse of Jason’s wedding ring again and smiles. It feels good, knowing that when this is over, they can talk about what happened, count their wounds, help the other heal. Tim won’t ever have to lock himself into the bathroom all night again; or if he does, Jason will be right there. 

That’s enough for him. They can figure out everything else. 

The next time that Tim is alone on a mission, Jason still doesn’t text him back. 

He calls him instead.


End file.
